


Sleepwalker

by duvent



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duvent/pseuds/duvent
Summary: Midorima and Akashi hang out at Murasakibara’s place.





	

Midorima tilts his head up and takes a deep breath of the unsympathetic daybreak. A mild breeze grazes the back of his neck, a cool and silent companion. He’s been waiting barely five minutes, yet it felt like someone new to basketball was bouncing a ball in his chest━loudly.

For another minute, the ball skipped around, bouncing high, before coming down. He closed his eyes and visualized a low dribble. It’s no use; now his heart is pounding. He rubs his chest in a futile effort to calm down. _Shouldn’t he be here by now? Did I get the time wrong? Is this the right house_? His questions, thrown furtively to the wind, went unanswered by the clouds.

“Why are you loitering?”

Startled, Midorima turns around. “I’m not…” Deep down, he knows Akashi is teasing, but he can’t think of a comeback. ( _Thump_. One bounce. _Thump_. The ball landing, rolling across the floor.)

Akashi moves toward the entryway in front of them. Struck by a sudden urge, Midorima thrusts his hand out. Their hands knock together before Akashi raps twice on the door, Midorima hastening to shove his hand back in his pocket.

The door opens. Murasakibara stares at them. The breeze teases their loose T-shirts, rippling the cotton neckbands. “Come in…”

They follow Murasakibara in slippered feet down a hallway. Murasakibara stops at the kitchen. He tries to nod them into the living room area, but seeing him around unpackaged snacks piques their interest. So they hover behind him, at a counter with a tray of fruit and biscuits.

“Are your parents around?”

“Why?”

“So we can say thank you? For preparing this.”

“No, they’re out, or else they would’ve beat me to the door.” Murasakibara kicks some watermelon seeds under the counter.

They pretend to not notice that.

(They also pretend not to see the edge of a crumpled up plastic shopping bag, a shoved aside cutting board, and a trail of crumbs extending across its bamboo surface.)

“Can we see your room?”

“It’s messy…”

“Every one’s room is messy.”

“Your messy and my messy are different, Aka-chin.”

He can’t deny that. In the open living room space, Midorima and Akashi are first drawn to the walls, commenting on family photos on high shelves and then to the low shelves and tables, where a few childhood photos feature baby cheeks, a playful pout and pudgy hands stretched toward the camera.

Murasakibara draws himself to the sofa and lies down. He scrunches up his hood. He thought it might be weird between them but they seem to be catching up fine. Their conversation sounds distant. Clear words slip away. He closes his eyes, as if by doing so their thoughts will slow down. _Why am I so tired? I haven’t done much today. Just waited for them to arrive._ His vision blurs over the hanging shrubs on his balcony. He wades back and forth in the sea of their voices, riding a gentle tide that laps the surface of his consciousness.

* * *

They’re sitting side by side with perfect posture. Earlier, Midorima was fiddling with the leather bracelet on his wrist. The fiddling leaves the bracelet loose and relaxed, belying the tension in his hands. He takes a clementine orange from the tray and peels it slowly, staining the citrus scent onto his fingers. Laced with sparks, the lull of their conversation holds their bodies taut, yet receptive to the trembling in the air…

* * *

Akashi steals a glance at Midorima. He had planned for silences (see: the memo on his phone with conversation topics in bullet form). He had not planned for his emotions to flit about, pinned to desire. It’s giving him a headache (or heartache?). Regardless, he didn’t understand why Shintarou looked so focused and calm. Back stiff against the sofa cushion, he remembers it was his idea in the first place to hang out (he had kept hinting at it until Murasakibara agreed to host them). _Nothing’s even happening_ , he reprimands himself. _Why was I so excited? Murasakibara even fell asleep!_ Hoping for something _more_ was like his longing after an imperfect cadence, an innate reaction that demanded perfect conclusions and neatly tied-up ends.

“Did I ever tell you I used to take riding lessons?”

His eyes cut to Midorima, startled.

“That is, until a horse jumped over me.”

Akashi breaks the spell of their frozen bodies to turn to him. _Was eye contact always this hard?_

“First of all, it was a shared horse. I wasn’t used to it. I must’ve been eight years old? The horse got away from me, so I started running after it and the instructor said not to do that. I turned back. Then the horse began chasing _me_.” Midorima pauses, a little flushed ━ there are details he’s missing and he’s speaking faster than usual. “Then I tripped, fell over, and the horse jumped over me.”

A laugh gathers from Akashi’s stomach. He laughs and laughs, and then clamps a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know why I find this so funny.”

“It _is_ funny,” Midorima says, any concern at messing up the story falling away, like autumn leaves. He might as well be dreaming. Though nothing about the setting was dreamlike. Not the resumed pounding in his chest or how the backs of his legs stuck to the sofa. And he didn’t get why he was intent on avoiding Akashi’s eyes and instead willing Murasakibara to fall.

To fall for him.

And he does. Midorima’s thoughts come to a halting _thud_ as Murasakibara rolls off the sofa opposite theirs.

“I fell asleep.”

They nod with vigor, as if they were the ones broken out of a reverie.

“Wasn’t for long,” Akashi says.

Murasakibara sits up. “I remember it pretty well. You guys were there.” Using a hair tie from his wrist, he sweeps his hair into a messy bun. “Under a sky blotted out by mighty clouds.”

 _Clouds buoyed by the uncertainties and insecurities of those below_ , Akashi continues in his head.

“Akashi’s cheeks were gilded with sun specks. So every time you talked there was this really annoying brightness.”

“Annoying?”

“No, I-”

“You know what?” Akashi forms an _L_ with his right hand, checking it under his chin. “I think you’re low-key mad because you don’t want to accept my feedback on your shooting form although you know I’m right.”

“Feedback? What are you going to feed me back?” Murasakibara distractedly replies. “Midorima was walking on a railing. His arms are glued to his side, hands in his pocket. That’s where he’s keeping his lucky item. Someone runs up to spot him, in case he falls.”

“Me.”

Murasakibara throws a skeptical look in Akashi’s direction. “Pretty sure it was me.”

“What makes you think I can’t catch him?”

Murasakibara pauses, long enough for Akashi to guess why.

“Oh, really?” Akashi crawls up to Murasakibara, hands balled and circling sportively.

“I’m not going to fall,” Midorima insists, though they’re now doing their best ‘come at me’ impressions. He bites back a smile. Watching them makes him want to bring his head close to a still body of water before diving in to clear himself of the heady, somnolent haze they simultaneously induce. They were saying his name - _‘Shintarou wouldn’t do that.’ ‘How would you know what Mido-chin…’_ \- like he wasn’t there, but also snapping their heads back at him to get his nods of agreement before continuing their banter. _I’m in good hands_ , he observes.

“We played together, running around, only stopping to catch our breath. The sun went down, and we went up past the clouds and slept on beds of stars.”

“Or we just went back out to the park and talked until we got too cold.”

Murasakibara lazily shushes Akashi and continues. Curtains shuffle, their quiet movements another captive audience.

Midorima imagines the next scene over top Murasakibara’s voice: _Slivers of wind surround them, impermanence layered under a clear, melancholic landscape._ He looks at a window. The curtains now quiver as the breeze passes through, nervous that a gale will interrupt the story, caught back by its gentleness.

“I wonder what I said.”

Midorima realizes Akashi is back at this sofa, looking at him. _I spaced out_? When the other two realize it, he gets identical squints of disbelief from them.

Akashi elaborates, “Apparently I made you laugh.”

“A lot,” Murasakibara adds. “With abandon.” He tugs his lip upwards, forcing a wide smile. He leans back, and then looks at Midorima, who just raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

Akashi tries replicating the face that Murasakibara made, and looks more like the grinning emoji with all its teeth showing.

Midorima and Murasakibara burst out laughing. “That must be it.”

Murasakibara tries to remember the ending. It’s fading away, but he’s running behind them, watching over the duo as their laughs fall like fat raindrops, soaking his soul in warmth. _Do they have to leave?_

“I’m so lost.” Midorima swings his legs up and lies them down behind Akashi.

“Same.” Murasakibara leaps up, and in a stride, falls gently on Midorima, wiggling to find a comfortable position (which, of course does not exist when the person happens to be ticklish and smaller than you).

The victim waves his right hand in a plea to Akashi, which he takes and tickles with his thumb. He says, “I can see it. A bed of stars.”

Murasakibara turns his head and nods, strands of hair framing a wide grin.

“I wouldn’t know,” Midorima grumbles from his position.

Suddenly they hear a crash from another room, followed by a few tumbles and the clattering of objects against a closet door.

“Told you it was messy,” Murasakibara mumbles.

Midorima and Akashi meet each other’s eyes. Akashi doubles over, Midorima shuts his eyes.

Murasakibara jumps off the sofa and runs. They hear another crash, this time followed by a disgruntled sigh. They hear a cupboard slamming, the flick of a water tap and the _thumping_ of his hurried steps back. He chucks a small bottle at Akashi and slaps a dampened face towel on Midorima.

“What-”

“You take one every four to six-ish hours.”

Akashi reads part of the subheading of the bottle label: ‘For stomach pain.’

“And are you all right,” Murasakibara demands to Midorima, lacking the tact to phrase the polite expression of worry into a proper question.

After a stunned silence, resounding laughs suffuse the room in firelight.

Murasakibara cocks an ear at the ringing laughter, and squints at Midorima’s broad smile and the water dripping down his glasses, then dribbling down his face (he really had not wrung the towel enough). Akashi is clutching his stomach, but he’s not in pain, if Murasakibara is to believe the red eyes tickled with amusement.

Murasakibara buries his head in his arms. They weren’t supposed to be laughing so much. He’d rather Akashi yell, because at least he’d then explain what he was doing wrong. He looks up as the laughs fade and recede into faint smile lines and dimples.

Midorima wipes his brow. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Me too. Thanks, Atsushi.”

Murasakibara shivers, and doesn’t notice when Midorima rubs a hand on his back in response. _That was it_ ━ out of thin air, washed ashore ━ laughter that would never leave him.

**Author's Note:**

> Back in February, when I started (and meant to finish) writing this, I was reading Toni Morrison’s _Jazz _. There’s one page where Morrison describes laughter as more complicated and more serious than tears and MuraAkaMido was on my mind then. Would they really smile and laugh as much as I’ve written? If not, how do they come to terms with emotions that they find they can’t control ━ these sleepwalking feelings? That’s what I wanted to write about. I didn’t get that across very well though, haha. Thanks for reading~__


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